Wyoming Cowboy Justice

by Nicole Helm

  Grady jerked his chin toward the back of the bar. Though the regulars knew not to swing through the old saloon doors until three on the dot or later, he didn’t want anyone accidentally overhearing this conversation.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t speak caveman. Is that little chin jerk supposed to mean something?”

  He flicked a glance down her tall, slender frame. He could see her weapon outlined under the shapeless polo shirt she wore. The mannish khakis were slightly better than the polo because they at least gave the impression of her having an ass. A shame of an outfit, all in all.

  “Let me ask you this,” he said, leaning his elbows on the freshly waxed surface of the bar. He’d spent most of a lifetime learning how to appear completely unaffected when affected was exactly what he was, and this was no different. “Is this visit personal or professional?” he asked, making sure to drawl the word personal and infuse it with plenty of added meaning.

  “Professional,” she all but spat. “Like I said earlier. Trust me when I say I will never set foot through those pointless swinging doors for anything other than strictly professional business.”

  “Aw, sweetheart, don’t lay down a challenge you won’t be able to win.”

  “I see that even when it comes to your brother, you can’t take anything important seriously. How about this? The murder victim is Jason Delaney. The only person around at the time of the murder was Clint Danvers.”

  Grady swore.

  “I need to question your brother before news of this murder and that he was a witness spreads through town like wildfire. All we need is for one person to see a Delaney’s been murdered, and know Clint is technically a Carson and a witness, and we have a whole feud situation on our hands. Are you going to help me or not?” she said evenly, the only show of temper at this point in her eyes, where he could all but picture the flecks of gold bursting into flame one by one.

  He didn’t trust a Delaney in the least, but Laurel Delaney wasn’t quite like the rest. She hated the feud, and he almost believed she might be more interested in the truth than crucifying Clint without evidence. The rest of the town would be a different matter. This would result in the kind of uproar that could only cause problems for everyone.

  Clint was in trouble, and Bent was in trouble, and the thing that kept the Carsons and Delaneys in this town, most of them hating and blaming each other for good or for bad, was that something about Bent had been poured into their blood at birth.

  Something about the buildings that had stood the test of time in the shadow of distant, rolling mountains, far away from any kind of typical civilization. Something about the way history was imprinted into their fingerprints and their names, even if some people chose to ignore it.

  Bent was like an organ in the body of those who stayed, and no matter what side of the feud you were on, Bent was the common good. Usually no one could agree on what that meant.

  This wouldn’t be any different. Laurel would want to solve the problem with warrants and investigations and all sorts of time-consuming bull. He and his cousins could have it sorted out with a few well-timed threats, maybe some fists, probably within the week.

  So, he smiled at Laurel, as genially as he could manage for a man who wasn’t used to being genial at all. “Have to pass, princess. Guess you and your gun will have to do all the heavy lifting.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Sometimes I can’t decide if you think I’m stupid or if that’s just you. This is real life, Grady, not the Wild West—especially your lame version of it. If you want to arrest a murderer, you have to conduct an investigation. If you want to save your brother from the possibility of not just being a suspect, but being convicted, you need to work with the police. This isn’t about Delaney versus Carson. It’s about right and wrong. Truth and justice.”

  “Guess we’ll find out.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t come crying to me when Clint is locked up.”

  “Don’t let the doors slap that pretty little ass of yours on the way out. You might end up enjoying it.”

  “You know, I don’t get to say this enough in a day. Screw you, Grady.” She flipped him off as she sauntered out of the saloon. The doors didn’t hit her on the way out, but that didn’t stop him from watching her disappear.

  He waited until she was completely gone, then watched the clock tick by another few minutes. Casually, he pulled out his phone, then gave one last glance at the doors that had gone completely still. As if he didn’t have a care in the world, he sent off a text to his cousins.

  We need a meeting.

  Ty was the first to respond. Mine, cow, or woman?

  Grady’s mouth quirked at the code they’d developed as teens. Mine was property, because the Carsons had managed to eke out some of their own, even with the Delaney name stamped all over this town since the first Delaney bastards had screwed the first Carsons out of their rightful claim to land and gold. Because of that nasty start of things in Bent, the Carsons didn’t let anybody mess with what was rightfully theirs.

  Cow meant family, because the Carsons and the Delaneys of old had gone to great and sometimes disastrous lengths to protect their livestock around the turn of the twentieth century, and these days, going to great lengths to protect family was still a number one priority for the Carsons.

  And woman...

  Grady stared at where Laurel had gone. Well, she was a woman, and she was a pain. A cop. A Delaney.

  Yeah, he had a woman problem, but it was one that he was going to ignore, and it would go away. So, he typed Cow into his phone before grabbing his keys and heading out the back.

  Chapter Two

  Laurel wasn’t big on breaking rules or protocol, but considering she was currently investigating a murder, and Grady likely knew where the only potential witness/suspect was, following him was necessary.

  It was, however, difficult to follow someone surreptitiously in Bent. There weren’t any cars to hide behind, and the roads that crisscrossed in and out of town were surrounded by long, wide stretches of plains, the mountains a hazy promise in the distance.

  Still, when Grady’s motorcycle roared out of town toward the west, quickly followed by another motorcycle, Laurel was pretty sure she knew where the motorcycle parade of doom was headed. Which made her job a hell of a lot easier.

  She gave them a few minutes, then drove out of Bent in the direction of the Carson Ranch. Though Grady didn’t live there full-time, everyone knew he routinely bunked out at the ranch Noah Carson ran.

  Much like the Delaneys tended to congregate around their own ranch on the exact opposite side of town. As if the two ranches were facing off, Bent their no-man’s-land in between.

  Laurel sighed. This whole thing was going to make that no-man’s-land erupt into a chaos they hadn’t seen for decades, if she didn’t get some information out of Clint, and soon. She’d been stupid to think Grady had half a brain and would grant her access.

  But she wasn’t stupid enough to give up, and she was too darn stubborn to let Bent get dragged into another foolish war. It might not be the Wild West anymore, but people—many of whom were far too armed for their own good—getting riled up and fighting was never a good thing.

  Especially when she had a murder to solve.

  Laurel parked her car at the curve in the road, the last place she couldn’t be seen. She’d have to hike up the rest of the way and do her best to stay behind underbrush and land swells and whatever she could find. Hopefully the Carson clan would be too busy planning how to hide away Clint to look out the windows and see her.

  She pocketed her keys, checked her weapon and set out into the brisk fall afternoon. She remembered to turn the sound on her cell and radio off as she walked, keeping her eyes on where the Carson spread would eventually come into view.

  When it did, she paused. She might be the practical, methodical sort, but she never failed to ta
ke a moment or two to appreciate where she lived. The sky was a breathtaking blue, puffy white clouds drifting by on the early fall breeze. The grass and brush were a mix of browns and gold. Surrounded by the all-inspiring glory of the majestic peaks of the Wind River mountains and the rolling red hills was a cluster of buildings sitting in the middle of a broad golden field.

  The Carson Ranch wasn’t much like its Delaney counterpart. It was populated with sturdy, mostly Carson-built buildings. They’d preserved most of the original ranch house, making improvements and expanding only when necessary. Like the saloon, it was a bit like stepping back in time with a modern layer over top.

  The Delaney Ranch, on the other hand, was sleek, modern and gleaming, thanks to Laurel’s father. The only building on the entire spread that predated her father was the one Laurel used as home right now. A tiny cabin that had supposedly been her ancestor’s original homestead, though modernized with plumbing and electricity and whatnot.

  It would fit in well enough on the Carsons’ land. Laurel frowned at that uncomfortable thought. Nothing about her or her life would fit in with this group of ne’er-do-wells.

  She edged along the fence line, trying to stay out of sight from any windows. Two motorcycles were parked in front of the main house, and Laurel had to wonder if they’d come here because Clint was here, or if they’d chosen the place to have some kind of pseudo-planning meeting.

  Laurel knew one thing: Grady wasn’t as nonchalant as he’d pretended. She’d never known him to bow out of the bar this close to opening before.

  Maybe Clint was here. She could go to the house, demand to see him and show the three Carson cousins she wasn’t scared of them—not Grady and his swagger, not Noah and his quiet stoicism, and not Ty, who’d recently returned after having served years as an army ranger. They might be big, strong men, but she was a law enforcement agent, and she’d faced bigger, badder men than them.

  It would set a good precedent to stare them down, to demand access or answers. The Carsons seemed to think they were above the law, especially if it was a Delaney trying to enforce it, and she didn’t have to let that stand.

  But she didn’t see another intact vehicle anywhere, just a handful of rusting, tire-less old cars and trucks. If Clint was here, he’d either gotten here on foot or hidden his vehicle.

  There were a ton of outbuildings. While the Carson boys sat inside and planned whatever they were planning, maybe she could find a clue in one of those.

  She quickened her pace, making it into the stables first. There were four horses in stalls, huffing happily, and a surprising amount of tidiness inside for the lack of it out. She made her way to the empty stall toward the back. It could fit a motorcycle or—

  “Hands up,” a husky feminine voice commanded.

  Laurel whirled at the sound, hand on the butt of her weapon, and then scowled. “Vanessa, do not point a gun at me.”

  “Got a warrant?” Vanessa Carson asked, holding an old-looking rifle pointed directly in Laurel’s direction.

  “Is that a musket?” Laurel asked incredulously, then shook her head. “Regardless, stop pointing it at me. That’s an official order.”

  With a hefty sigh, Grady’s sister lowered her rifle. Laurel felt the same thing she always felt when she looked at her former best friend. Regret, and a pang for a childhood before things had been poisoned by some stupid feud.

  “Why are you sneaking around our stables?” Vanessa demanded.

  “Official reasons.”

  Vanessa smirked and pulled her phone out of her pocket. She held it up to her ear. “Hey, Grady. I’m out in the stables. We’ve got an uninvited visitor.”

  Laurel threw her hands in the air, frustrated beyond belief. “When will you all realize I am trying to help you. Help Bent.” It was all she’d ever wanted to do. Help Bent. Even people who hated her because of her last name knew that was true.

  “Helping Bent usually translates to helping the Delaneys when it comes to your people, Laurel. Why should this be any different?”

  Laurel had a million arguments for that. Even though she’d beat her head against that concrete wall time and time again, she had no compunction about doing it again now. But she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

  Something that looked suspiciously like a skinny teenager running for the mountains.

  Laurel didn’t hesitate, didn’t concern herself with Vanessa’s musket, of all things, and most definitely didn’t worry about the impending arrival of Grady.

  She pushed past Vanessa and ran after the quickly disappearing figure. She ignored Vanessa’s shouts and put all her concentration into running as fast as she could.

  “Clint Danvers, stop right there,” she yelled, gaining absolutely no ground on the kid, but not losing any, either. “Bent County Sheriff’s Department, I am ordering you to stop!” She could threaten to shoot, of course, but that would cause more problems than it’d ever solve.

  Clint darted behind a barn at the west edge of the property, and Laurel swore, because he could go a couple different directions hidden behind that barn and she wouldn’t be able to see which one he chose.

  Her lungs were burning, but she pushed her body as fast as it would go, cutting the corner around the barn close. Close enough she ran right into a hard wall of something that knocked her back and onto her butt.

  She would have popped right back up, ignoring her throbbing nose and butt, but the hard object she’d run into was Grady himself. And now he was standing there, giving no indication he’d let her pass.

  She glared up at him and his imposing arms folded over his chest. “I detest you,” she said furiously, even knowing she should tamp down her temper and be a professional.

  His all-too-full lips curved into one of those wolfish smiles. “My life is a success, then.”

  “He’s getting away, and if you think that’s going to go over well for him, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  Grady jerked his chin toward the house. “Ty’s after him on his bike. We’ll have him rounded up in a few.”

  “Oh,” Laurel managed to say, blinking. That was not what she’d expected out of Grady. At all. She figured he’d purposefully stepped in her way so Clint could escape.

  “But I’m not going to let you talk to him, princess.” He held out his hand as if he was going to help her up.

  She pushed herself to her feet. “Let me?” she muttered. As if he could let her do anything in her official capacity.

  “But I am going to clean you up. I think you might have broken your nose.”

  She touched her fingers to her nose, surprised to find a sticky substance there. She’d been so angry, she hadn’t even realized her nose was bleeding. “I could arrest you for assaulting an officer.”

  “Babe, you ran right into me. That’s not assault. It’s not watching where you’re going.”

  She didn’t screech or growl or pound her fists into his chest like she wanted to. No, she took a deep breath in and then out.

  She had a job to do, and Grady Carson could break her nose, threaten her sanity, but he could not stand in her way.

  * * *

  GRADY DIDN’T LIKE the uncomfortable hitch in his chest at the sight of Laurel’s face all bloody. It was her own damn fault she’d crashed into him. He’d heard her coming, of course, but he hadn’t known she’d turn the corner at the same exact time he had.

  At full speed.

  She was entirely to blame, but somehow he felt guilty as he walked her back to the main house. “We’ll clean you up, then you can be on your way.”

  “I’m just going to come back with a search warrant. Clint is the only potential witness in a murder, Grady. I can’t stop going after him until he answers some questions.”

  He hated that she was using that reasonable, even-keeled cop tone with him when there was a trickle of blood slowly dripping down
her chin.

  “Ain’t none of my business what you got to do, Deputy,” he said as lazily as he could manage, even though he didn’t feel lazy at all.

  His teenage half brother was a dope, plain and simple. Grady didn’t think Clint had actually killed anyone, but he had a bad feeling based on Clint’s running away that Clint knew something. Considering Clint’s mom had kicked Clint out of the house just last week and had lectured Grady on getting him sorted out, Grady could only feel pissed and more of that unwelcome guilt.

  He hated feeling guilty. So, when Ty pulled up on his bike, alone, Grady cursed. “Where the hell is he?”

  “I don’t know, man. Disappeared.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  Ty shrugged. “Noah took one of the horses to go search the trees. What the hell happened to her?” Ty asked, gesturing toward Laurel.

  “Your cousin broke my nose,” the infuriating woman stated.

  Ty’s eyebrows winged up.

  “I did not break her nose. She ran into me at full speed and broke her own damn nose.”

  “Want me to go open the saloon for you?” Ty asked.

  Grady nodded and fished his keys out of his pocket. He tossed them at Ty. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Laurel said as Ty rode off. “My nose isn’t really broken. It’s just bleeding. I can clean myself up in my car.”

  “How do you know it’s not broken?”

  She shrugged. She was a tall woman, but narrow. Narrow shoulders, narrow hips. Her hair always pulled back in a bouncy brown ponytail. Her face always devoid of makeup. Her body always covered up. The complete opposite of his type.

  Which was why he’d never quite understood why his gaze tended to linger on her when they happened to be in the same vicinity, or why he got such a kick out of pissing her the hell off, and always had, since she’d been a girl hanging around his sister back before Vanessa had decided Delaneys were evil incarnate.